Moneypenny
by Lily Ophelia
Summary: Bel realizes her affection for Freddie goes deeper than she thought. Previously posted on AO3 as part of the Yultide Fic Exchange on LJ.


"Do you trust me?" Freddie asked suddenly, looking up at her.

"What?" Bel asked, startled.

"Would I betray you?" he pressed impatiently.

"No," she answered automatically, but then realizing her gaff, gave him an ironic smile and said, "yes."

His mouth dropped open as he looked up at her, indignation distorting his features.

"Big betrayal or small betrayal?" she asked, amending her statement.

"I'd never betray you!" he said sharply, and she realized he was completely serious. There was no jest in his manner or his tone.

"No," she agreed in an effort to soothe his nerves.

"I'm a good person!" he announced, pointing at his chest, his eyes flashing.

"Yes!" she said quickly, wondering how long this was to go on. With Freddie, she never knew.

He accepted her agreement with a nod and then asked again, "Do you trust me?"

Without thought and in all honesty, she replied. "More than anyone else."

"Not good enough," he said turning away. "Missed the mark again."

She stared after him, her heart speeding up as resentment filled her chest. Who was he to make her feel as though she had betrayed him? To question her loyalty? He still had his job and because of him, she had lost hers.

"I hate you," she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. He turned to her, the tiniest smile playing around his lips and the resentment faded away.

"I hate you," she repeated. Freddie walked over silently and suddenly she felt nervous. Lifting her fingers to her mouth, she was tempted to bite her nails as she used to as a child. She looked at the floor because at that moment she felt incapable of looking directly at him.

But he laughed and she couldn't help herself. She glanced up to find his gaze direct and serious.

"I hate you too," he replied softly.

And suddenly she knew the words they spoke were not what they meant. She watched him pick up his coat and head for the door, her heart was pounding in her chest and she could not for the life of her figure out why.

"C'mon," said, his voice echoing throughout the empty studio. "We've got a story to write."

Though confused and not at all sure what she was doing, she followed him out the door and down the hall to her office.

"You are aware I was fired, aren't you?" she said, shoving papers and pens into her purse as Freddie lounged in the doorway, a cigarette hanging between his lips. "I won't be writing any more stories, unless they're for the natural history department."

Freddie was silent. Bel looked up to find him staring at her, a curious expression on his face.

"I didn't want that to happen," he said.

Damn him. He couldn't even say he was sorry.

"But we all knew it would, Freddie. I was the one in charge. I was responsible for you, and I let you do it. Like I always do."

There was a pause, an unspoken question in the air, which Bel was more than satisfied to let go unanswered unless Freddie asked. She was tired of making it easy for him.

"Do—do you regret it?" he asked, surprising her. She hadn't thought he would.

"No, of course not."

She picked up her bag as Freddie picked up her coat. He held it up as she slipped one arm in and then the other. As he lifted on to her shoulders, his knuckles brushed her cheek. It was the smallest unintentional caress, but she shivered, the hair on her arms standing on end. She jerked her coat on the rest of the way to mask her confusion, but he noticed anyway.

"What's wrong?" he asked holding the door open for her. "You looked flushed."

He reached a hand up to feel her forehead, but she brushed it aside and went out the door. "I'm fine," she said briskly. "Let's go to a pub if you want to get this story done tonight. If we go home, I swear I'll fall into bed and you won't see me until morning."

Freddie smiled his crooked smile, unaware of anything amiss and they left together out into the night. Even the cold air couldn't erase the line from between her brow and the troubled thoughts from her mind.

They arrived at the pub and ordered beer. Freddie took out his notebook and started scribbling, as Bel stared at all the people in the pub, laughing, talking, and having a genuinely good time. She suddenly felt depressed. The strange thoughts in her mind only made her feel worse on top of the fact that she had just lost her job. It was all so overwhelming; she downed her beer, choking slightly at the end.

Freddie looked up with a frown.

"Well, Freddie?" she asked. "What will I do now?"

"Get really drunk," he replied, and getting up, went over to the bar. He came back with a bottle of scotch and two glasses. Pretty soon, they were laughing, their work forgotten as they downed glass after glass of the warm amber alcohol.

As it the night wore on, and the people around them disappeared out into the night, they grew quiet. She felt comfortable, and the worries of her job and the uncomfortable feelings she had had earlier in the evening felt very far away and no longer relevant.

"Hello, Moneypenny," Freddie said softly over the rim of his glass.

As she met his eyes, suddenly the strange feelings came back and her stomach flipped over so hard she felt nauseous.

"I—I have to go to the ladies," she said, and without waiting for an answer, she stumbled out of the booth and into the lavatory. Turning on the tap, she splashed cold water on her face, being careful of her makeup, and looked into the mirror at her flushed cheeks.

What was wrong with her? Was she ill? She held the back of her hand up to her forehead and found it cool. Perhaps she was just tired and needed to sleep. It was, after all, one in the morning after a very busy day. So she left the lavatory and made her way back to Freddie to tell him to take her home.

She was almost at he table, when she looked up and found the words choking in her throat and unable to tear her gaze away from the sight before her.

He was hunched over his notepad, ink-stained fingers scribbling across the small page, his untidy hair covering his eyes. As usual, his coat was too large, his tie was askew and he was too thin. He was Freddie as she had always known him, but something had changed in the way she saw him. Something had snapped into place that had been out of place before.

Her heart began to thump painfully against her ribs and it was in that moment as she stared at him over the table, that she knew she was in love with him.

In love with Freddie! How was that possible? Her dearest friend, with whom she had shared her darkest secrets, her greatest fears—oh, how could she have been so blind? It was all so obvious now. Only now she understood what Hector had meant when he had wanted her to be around him as she was around Freddie. They had, for years, behaved as lovers except that they had never been. Every piece in the puzzle that was her relationship with Freddie had been there except for the intimacy of a physical relationship, the quiet words of love, or stolen kisses.

She must have looked as shocked as she felt because when Freddie finally looked up from his scribbling, he asked, "Are you well? You look pale."

"I'm fine," she said, sitting down. Instantly his hand was on her forehead, checking her pulse, which she was sure was racing, and peering into her eyes.

"You don't seem ill," he said decisively. "But it's late. Come, I'll take you home."

He helped her into her coat and taking her arm, led her out the door into the darkened streets.

As they walked she could focus on nothing but how strong he felt. She had never thought about Freddie in such a way before, but now as she stared up into his concerned face, she saw him as a man. And what a beautiful, wonderful, exquisite man he was! And he cared for her more than anyone other than his father, this she knew. Perhaps…perhaps he could even love her. Perhaps he already did.

And suddenly all the things he had ever done to show her how much he cared came in torrents, and she realized that she had been in love with him for a very long time, but she had unconsciously chosen to ignore it. Deep down she had been afraid that admitting love for him, their relationship would change, and it would not necessarily be in her favor.

It was difficult enough being a woman in broadcasting, but to be married with the expectations of children and the role of being a housewife. She loved her career, and if she had to give it up, even for Freddie, she wasn't sure she could bear it.

They arrived at her flat, which she opened, her brain feeling as though it were stuffed with cotton wool. As she opened the door and went in, she noticed that Freddie still stood outside, his hands in his pockets. He looked a little awkward, which was strange. He had taken her home many times.

"Will you come in for a nightcap?" she asked impulsively, her heart pounding in her chest.

He looked taken aback. "Oh. Yes."

They went up the stairs in silence, their heels clicking on the wooden floor. She let them into her flat and as Freddie removed his coat, Bel went over to the cabinet where she kept a bottle of scotch and took out a couple of tumblers. She poured them both a double and handed him one. They sat down on the couch and drank in silence. After a few minutes, Freddie took out his notebook and began to write again.

Bel got up and poured herself another drink, feeling as thought it were the only thing she could control in this situation. Liquid courage they called it, but even so, courage was nowhere to be seen.

"Do you want another?" she asked him as she brought the bottle back with her.

"Please," he said looking up, and she poured him a drink.

She sat down and took a sip. They sat there as he scribbled on, and she watched him over the rim of her glass as he thick dark hair fell into his eyes. She poured them another drink and soon, he had put his pen down and they were sitting in silence, both slightly intoxicated. It was then that courage reared its head.

"I love you, Freddie," she said quietly, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"I know you do, Moneypenny," Freddie said, his fingers running around the rim of his glass.

"No, Freddie," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I mean as a woman loves a man. As I have never loved anyone else in my entire life."

Freddie's fingers fell to the table and he was still, his face expressionless.

He finally looked up at her and his eyes were bright and his mouth twisted. "You're drunk, Bel. You don't know what you're saying."

"What if I am drunk?" Bel said loudly, standing up and knocking her drink over in the process. "So are you! Don't patronize me, Freddie, I won't accept that from you. I know what I am saying, and I love you!"

Her voice rang in her ears.

He stood then, and without her heels on they were the same height and the same size. For the first time in her life she felt small next to him and she shivered under his gaze. It was filled with fire.

"Do you?" he asked intently. "Are you absolutely sure? Because if you aren't sure, absolutely sure that you truly love me, then you need to stop."

The fire in his eyes burned out and he seemed to collapse within himself, like a man who had finally let go of something he had been holding much too tight.

"Because if you let me touch you as I've longed to, if you let me make love to you—"

He broke off and she saw the dark red flush creep up his face.

"—and you wake up in the morning and realize it was a mistake or that you don't feel the same way—I won't be able to do this anymore. I have waited patiently, stood beside you as you had your affair with Hector—"

He broke off painfully and turned away from her, his back stiff.

"You've been waiting for me?" she asked feeling shock run through her. "Why did you never say anything?"

"I was afraid," he said quietly. "I didn't say anything, for fear you would despise me. I wanted our friendship to remain, at any cost, even if that cost was the chance to tell you how much I loved you."

Bel was silent a moment. "I told you I trusted you more than anyone else, but what about you? Do you trust me?"

"Of course," he said quietly. "More than anyone."

"So if I say that I want to keep working and perhaps never learn to cook well or have children—"

"Bel," he interrupted. "You are the most brilliant woman I have ever known. I love you as you are and I would never ask you to change that."

After a moment she took his hand in hers, caressing the place between his thumb and fingers, feeling the quickening of his pulse under her thumb.

She brought his hand to her mouth and pressed her lips to the back of it in a hard kiss.

He relaxed and turning to her, reached out and touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, hope and longing in his eyes.

She leaned over and slowly, achingly, pressed her lips against his.

He opened his mouth in a gasp and she took a step closer so that their bodies were pressed against each other. Her breasts pushing against his chest and his arms hesitantly wrapped around her, his fingers barely touching the small of her back as he drew her closer. She placed her hands on the back of his neck, playing with the tiny curls that had escaped the pomade. He whimpered and she took the opportunity to slip her tongue into his mouth. He tasted of tobacco and scotch, and of "Freddie."

As she moved closer, his fingers grew more confident as they wandered down her hips to cup her buttocks, unconsciously pulling her towards his own hips.  
Bel felt a shiver of desire course through her belly as she felt his hardness, and suddenly there were too many barriers between them—too many layers of cloth.

She broke the contact between their mouths reluctantly, and whispered against his lips, "Please, Freddie."

His eyes, dark with desire, closed.

"Bel—" he said in a strained voice. "I don't want to make love to you drunk and behaving foolishly."

He pulled away from her and she almost cried out at the loss of contact of his lean frame. He was flushed and his hair was out of place, and it was all she could do to keep herself from throwing herself back into his arms.

"You are worth more than that," he said firmly, but his hands were shaking.

She was also shaking, she realized. Her teeth chattered from both desire and the intense emotions that flowed through her.

"I won't," he said tightly. "I will not be content to use you. I need you to know that I can never behave as Hector did—"

"Freddie, stop," Bel said fiercely, putting her hand up. "I know that. I know you are not Hector. If you were, I would not be here right now, wanting you as I have never wanted any man before."

He started at that, his face flushing. "You are surprisingly poetic tonight," he said hoarsely, a smile playing around his mouth. "From you I would not have expected such eloquence."

Then his mouth crashed onto hers and she was falling onto the couch behind them. Her head hit the soft cushions and his lips were on her throat and his hands pushing up under her blouse and jacket.

She felt his hardness straining against his trousers with impatience and with shaking fingers she unbuttoned his trousers and slipped her hand into his shorts. He gasped against her throat as her fingers wrapped around him. She met his eyes and parted her lips as she imagined what she was holding in her hand slipping between her legs and entering her. She whimpered as a pang of longing shot through her.

Freddie pulled away and was removing his jacket. His suspenders fell from his shoulders and she unbuttoned his shirt with shaking fingers. Pushing it off his shoulders she pushed up his undershirt and pulled it over his head. His flat nipples stood out from his thin chest, and he turned from her as if suddenly self-conscious. On impulse, she sat up and kissed one, taking the tiny nub into her mouth. He gasped, and his fingers wrapped into her hair, pulling the pins out painfully. But Bel didn't care. Her own nipples ached, and she was desperate to feel them against his bare skin.

She kicked off her shoes, and he pushed her jacket off her shoulders and began unbuttoning her blouse. It soon joined her jacket on the floor and he rolled her over and unzipped her skirt, pulling it off her hips so that she was clad in only her undergarments, slip, and stockings. Still on her stomach, she felt him unclasp her brassiere. She shivered as she felt his lips press onto her spine, letting out an involuntary moan. His hands had slid down to her corselet and soon she was completely naked save her stockings, which he soon rolled off, his fingers stroking her legs as he did so. She gasped as he pressed a kiss on her ankle, goose flesh breaking out all over her body. Then he was kissing his way up her calves to the sensitive area behind her knees, up to her thighs, and then to the bare skin of her buttocks.

"Oh, Bel," he breathed out. "You are magnificent."

She couldn't answer. She could only lie there and try to breathe.

She heard a flurry of movement, and then there was bare flesh pressing against her, and soft breath on her neck. She felt his silky softness and without reason, she pressed back, feeling wanton.

"No," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "I want to see your face."

So she rolled over under him, her legs parting for him to rest between them, which he did. Her breasts pushed into his chest, and he looked into her eyes, his own dark with desire, his lips parted, breath panting.

She reached around and gently caressed his back with her fingertips. He leaned down and kissed her slowly, achingly, until she was writhing beneath him. She gripped his hips with her knees and pushed up, hoping to entice him to slip inside of her. She was almost successful, but then he pulled away.

"Not, yet," he said, and then his lips were on her breast, her nipple in his mouth, hot and hard.

She had never been treated this way by any man. They had all pushed inside her as quickly as they could, panting from their own exertion, paying no attention to what she might have wanted or desired. Even Hector. It wasn't that she hadn't felt pleasure with him, but somehow it had always been somewhat disappointing—and it had never been like this. Freddie wasn't even inside her yet, and already she was nearly mad with want—the wetness between her legs, so unfamiliar, proof of that.

One of his hands worked its way down to where her legs were parted and slipped over the sensitive bundle of flesh there.

"Freddie!" she gasped. "Freddie!"

He removed his hand and then he was inside her, hard and warm.

"Bel," he whispered into her ear.

And so they made love on the small couch in her tiny flat, their feet hanging off the end, elbows, knees, and backsides burning from the rough wool. But they didn't care—not one jot—for Freddie finally had the love of the woman he had loved for so long, and the promise that she would not falter. And Bel had realized that in her journey to find her place in a man's world, and the search for someone of equal mind and spirit to share it with, she had been ignoring the man right that had always been there—her dearest friend, and now her lover.

She came with a murmur, her fingers tightening on his arms, her eyes closing as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. A moment later, he let out a strangled cry and she was filled with his warmth as he shuddered against her. As he placed his head onto her chest, she knew from that moment, that they would be all right, no matter what.


End file.
